The Kingston family arrived in Beaumont, Texas, on a bright December 20th, stepping off the train into the warmer air that carried a scent of pine and something vaguely industrial. On the platform, amidst the bustle of holiday travelers, stood a man in his early thirties, a friendly smile lighting up his face as he spotted John.
"John! It's been too long!" the man called out, stepping forward with a hearty handshake and a warm embrace for John.
"Joseph! It's wonderful to see you again," John replied, a genuine smile on his face as he clapped the man on the shoulder. He then turned to his family. "Everyone, this is Joseph Eloi Broussard. Joseph, this is my wife, Mary, my son, Michael, my brother, George, and his wife, Elizabeth."
Michael stepped forward, extending his hand to Joseph. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Broussard. Father John has told us a lot about you."
Joseph shook Michael's hand warmly, though a flicker of confusion crossed his face as he glanced at John. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Michael. I hope John has been saying all good things about me!"
Joseph greeted each of them with genuine warmth. "It's a true pleasure to finally meet all of you. John has told me so much about his family over the years." He and John had a history that stretched back decades. Though Joseph was ten years younger than John, born on December 16, 1866, near Beaumont, he had known John since he was a boy, often trailing after the older boy during John's visits. Even after John had moved north, they had maintained a steady correspondence through letters, keeping each other updated on their lives.
Later, as they gathered their luggage, Joseph leaned in to John, a puzzled expression on his face. "John, forgive me for asking, but isn't Michael your nephew? I recall you mentioning your brother having a son."
John chuckled and clapped Joseph on the shoulder. "It's a bit of a long story, my friend. But yes, George is Michael's biological father, and Elizabeth is his mother. Michael calls George 'Dad' and Elizabeth 'Mom,' and he calls Mary 'Mother' and me 'Father.' It's just how it worked out, and it suits us all perfectly."
Joseph nodded, a smile of understanding dawning on his face. "Ah, I see. Well, he seems like a fine young man."
Joseph had arranged for transport from the railway station. "I had wanted to bring my automobile," he explained, gesturing towards a horse-drawn carriage that waited nearby, "but with all of you and your luggage, it simply wouldn't have been big enough."
As they settled into the carriage, the clip-clop of hooves on the road began their journey through Beaumont. By 1898, Beaumont was a town steadily growing, its economy initially built on lumber and farming. The population was approaching ten thousand, and it was beginning to gain prominence in southeastern Texas. Joseph Eloi Broussard was proving to be a significant figure in the local economy. In 1892, he had converted a grist mill into the Beaumont Rice Mill, which became the first commercially successful rice mill in the state, significantly boosting rice cultivation in the region. His work in establishing irrigation systems, with the later development of the Lower Neches Valley Authority, was crucial to supporting this agricultural expansion, making rice an important commodity for Texas.
John looked around with a nostalgic air. "You've become quite the big man here, Joseph."
Joseph laughed, a genuine and hearty sound. "Not as big as you, John, from what I hear about your ventures up north! Tell me, what's your secret?"
John winked. "Ah, Joseph, if I told you, it wouldn't be a secret anymore, would it?" All laughed, the easy camaraderie of old friends quickly re-establishing itself as the carriage turned onto a tree-lined street, finally pulling up to a comfortable-looking two-storey house.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Joseph announced with a welcoming gesture.
The warmth of Joseph's welcome extended beyond his front door. As the Kingstons stepped inside, they were greeted by the delightful aroma of a home filled with life and laughter. Joseph's wife, Mary Belle Broussard, a kind-faced woman with a warm smile, embraced them as if they were already old friends. She had a gentle and welcoming demeanor, immediately putting the Kingstons at ease.
"Welcome, welcome! Joseph has been so excited about your visit," Mary Belle said, her voice carrying a soft Southern lilt.
Adding to the cheerful atmosphere were the Broussard children. By December 1898, Joseph and Mary Belle had welcomed several children into their lives.
By December 1898, Joseph and Mary Belle had welcomed six children into their lives. There was Clyde Eloi, a bright-eyed boy of eight; Marie F., a lively girl of six; Ruth Agnes, a thoughtful child of five; Bertha Louise, a curious toddler of three; Loretta C. , just two years old. The youngest, Genevieve Rose, had been born earlier that year in February, still a babe in arms.
The Broussard children looked at their guests with wide, curious eyes. Michael, already quite tall for his age at nine and standing nearly five feet, drew their particular attention. They gazed at him with a mix of awe and shyness. Michael, noticing their glances, offered them a warm smile. This seemed to make them even more bashful, and they quickly retreated, hiding behind their mother and father.
Joseph chuckled softly. "Now, now, don't be rude to our guests," he said gently to his children. Following this, the Kingstons brought forward the presents they had thoughtfully chosen for the Broussard children. There were colorful toys for the younger ones, sweet treats, and neatly wrapped clothes for them all. As soon as the gifts were distributed, the initial shyness towards the tall stranger was happily forgotten as the Broussard children became engrossed in their new treasures, their small hands eagerly unwrapping each surprise.
Watching the Broussard children become completely absorbed in their new toys and treats, a pang of something akin to loss resonated within Michael. He observed their unadulterated glee, the pure, uncomplicated joy that radiated from them, and felt a strange disconnect. His recent dream experiences, the vivid memories of Dean's harsh childhood and the constant awareness of life's potential for suffering, had seemingly aged him beyond his years. He couldn't quite recapture that same innocent delight, a realization that settled within him with a quiet sense of melancholy.
*****
The next day, the whole Kingston family, accompanied by Joseph, made their way to the house where John and George had spent their childhood. It was a short carriage ride from Joseph's home, leading them to a slightly more neglected part of town. The house, when they finally reached it, was a small, humble structure, almost swallowed by overgrown weeds and the relentless Texas sun. The paint had long since peeled away, revealing bare, weathered wood, and several windows were boarded up or simply broken, their jagged edges like missing teeth in a faded smile. The porch sagged precariously, and the once-bright front door hung slightly ajar, whispering tales of abandonment. This was the very place where John had been born and raised, and where he, in turn, had helped to raise his younger brother, George.
John gazed at the dilapidated state of the house with a wistful, nostalgic look. Despite its current condition, he could almost see the echoes of his younger self playing in the yard. After a long moment of silence, he turned to Joseph, a sudden spark of determination in his eyes. "Joseph," he said, "I want to build a house here."
Joseph, who had been observing John's reaction, nodded readily. "Yeah, John, we can definitely do that. How soon were you thinking?"
John looked around the small property, then back at Joseph. "Could it be done in a month? I really need to get back to New York."
Joseph's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "A month? John, that's a mighty tight timeframe. It would mean we'd have to hire a lot more workers, which will likely make the cost much higher."
Before John could respond, Michael, who had been quietly taking in the scene, interjected with surprising confidence. "Money is not an issue here, Mr. Broussard. We will gladly pay twice the normal fee for each worker if they can finish the house in one month. And if they manage to complete it within that time, we'll even give them a bonus."
Joseph stared at Michael, utterly taken aback. It was not the kind of pronouncement one usually heard from a nine-year-old boy. He glanced at John and George, expecting some correction or amusement, but they were both simply nodding in agreement. "Michael is right," John confirmed.
Joseph looked back at Michael, then at John and George, a bemused expression on his face. He couldn't quite fathom adults so readily agreeing with a child on such a significant matter. This Kingston family, he was beginning to realize, operated in a way he didn't quite understand.